


May Day

by Miaou Jones (miaoujones)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Historical, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-24
Updated: 2010-04-24
Packaged: 2017-10-13 23:35:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miaoujones/pseuds/Miaou%20Jones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the 50th anniversary of the U-2 incident, in which an American spy plane crashed inside the Soviet Union's borders, Ivan reflects on his encounters with the pilot, one Francis Gary Powers. At least that's what the pilot told the KGB his name was...</p>
            </blockquote>





	May Day

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [imotherland](http://imotherland.livejournal.com), for the 2010 Russia/America Spring Exchange.

May 1st is not the holiday it was during his Soviet years, but it is still one of Ivan's most beloved days—a celebration of renewal, a celebration of the people. Dawn has not yet broken as he walks out onto Pushkinsky Bridge, but already Ivan believes it will be a good day.

He has been wrong about such things before, of course. Never more so than fifty years ago.

 

 _May 1, 1960 – unidentified KGB facility outside Sverdlovsk_

As he strides down the empty corridor, the KGB's premier interrogator feels a knot of glee forming in his belly. If it is true—and there is no reason to believe the reports that an American pilot has been captured deep inside Soviet territory might be false—then it is an undeniable victory for the Soviet Union. It will be an advantage, a bargaining chip and a thing to flaunt at the upcoming summit. Ivan cannot wait to see Alfred's face when they meet in Paris.

When Ivan reaches the room where the American pilot is being held, he nods to the man standing guard. The guard knocks on the door and two agents inside come out, briefing him on the captive: a name—Francis Gary Powers—and a serial number are all they have so far. At least that is all they have from the pilot himself; they also have most of the aircraft he flew, since much of it survived the crash. Satisfaction curves Ivan's lips upwards.

But when he pushes open the door and sees the spy, his smile fades even as the one on the other's face broadens:

The smiling man's hair is dark and he wears no glasses, but the sunshine in those blue eyes—even under these circumstances, or perhaps especially so now—is unmistakable.

Ivan waits for the door to close securely behind him, shutting out his KGB comrades, before he speaks.

"Alfred."

The man before him takes it as a greeting, his foolish grin brightening even more.

"Oh, Alfred." Gazes locked, Ivan finds himself unable to stop from taking a backwards step. "What have you _done_?"

Alfred opens his smiling mouth, but before he can launch into whatever story he has concocted, Ivan raises a hand to stop him. His other hand masks his own face; he needs these last moments of silence, the quiet before the storm, to gather fortitude for what is to come.

"What are you doing here?" he asks at last, lowering both hands and seeking out Alfred's gaze.

"I came to see you!" Alfred says, smiling and smiling.

A man who smiles so often cannot be trusted; Ivan, who smiles frequently himself under all manner of circumstances, including interrogations (though not this one), well knows this. He watches Alfred's smiling mouth as Alfred continues:

"Because things went so well last Christmas when your boss visited mine, you know? And I just thought, with the Paris Summit coming up and all, I thought—"

"You _thought_?" Ivan decides to play the conversation as if Alfred is telling the truth, to show him that there is no advantage to him. "Alfred, did you also think you would be considered a spy if caught? Did you think about the consequences?" Ivan is not sure Alfred was thinking at all.

Unless that's what Alfred _wants_ Ivan to think. True, it has been some while since they have spent time in one another's company, but not so much that Ivan has forgotten the cleverness Alfred will pretend not to have when it suits him.

"I just thought," Alfred says, quieter than Ivan can remember hearing him for years and years, "that if we could spend some time together, just us, the two of us alone—I thought maybe we could work all this out."

 _This_ ; everything between them; the world.

Alfred is smiling again from his own words. When Ivan looks at that smile, those sunshine eyes, he wants to believe in Alfred; and, too, he cannot help believing that he must not.

They will be spending time together, yes, just the two of them alone—but Ivan does not think it will be what Alfred has in mind.

 

"Why did you violate Soviet airspace?" Ivan asks when next they meet in the small room.

"I told you—to see you!"

"To see my military installations? My nuclear power plants? To take pictures of them?"

Whether the hurt is feigned or genuine, a furrow appears on Alfred's brow. "To see you," he repeats. They look at each other, unblinking, the silence only broken by the steady tick-pulse of Ivan's watch.

"We have found your photographic equipment," Ivan reveals. "What were you taking pictures of?"

"Whatever's on the film, I guess," Alfred says indifferently.

It is a useless lie, but somehow also a brilliant one for the way it hides in a truth.

Ivan abandons this line of questioning, turning to another item they have discovered, this one concealed in a pocket lining of the clothing they confiscated off Alfred's body. His gloved hand holds up the pin carefully. "What is this?"

Alfred shrugs. "Someone gave it to me right before I took off. Said he hoped I wouldn't need it, but that I might."

"They expected you to administer this to yourself if captured?" Alfred's words don't feel like a lie, which only makes Ivan more incredulous. "The poison this contains is more than enough to kill a mortal man. What did they think it would do to you? What if this were enough to kill you? Was it meant to paralyze you, to simulate death so your body would be returned? But what if we did not return the body? Even the paralysis—did they not think of how that would affect them? What does this _do_?"

When Ivan pauses at last, Alfred scratches his neck absently, letting his gaze wander off.

Ivan's eyes narrow. "Alfred. Do they know you are here? Your President, your Central Intelligence Agency?"

"Um, sort of." Alfred flashes his lopsided grin. "The CIA, no. The Air Force and the President know Gary Powers flew out of Peshawar Airfield."

"But _you_ , Alfred F. Jones—"

"No. They know a special request for the flight was made and pushed through, but they don't know it was me."

Ivan considers this. It was terribly reckless. Not even Alfred could be that foolish...could he? If truly he were coming to visit with Ivan, if he believed Ivan was going to welcome him, then perhaps—

But even that premise is ridiculous. Is it not?

Ivan's attention comes back as Alfred says, "Unless you've released my picture, I guess. They'd have recognized me then."

"No," Ivan says, interested to see where Alfred's remark, shrouded in a casual tone, will lead.

"There you go then. So, have you told them Francis Gary Powers has been captured?"

Francis Gary Powers. There it is again. _Francis_ Gary Powers. Is it a code? Does Bonnefoy have a hand in this? Will something be revealed if the Soviet government releases the full name of the captured American pilot? Will a plan be set in motion? What does it _mean_?

He has nothing to lose by asking. "Why 'Francis'?"

Alfred's brows go up. "Huh? Well, Arthur Gary Powers doesn't have much of a ring to it, does it?" He flashes that crooked grin again; Ivan notes it. He has not yet decoded Alfred's smiles, but he will.

He does not mention the other item discovered—the single petal, sunflower, clinging to a fold of Alfred's impounded uniform.

 

Alfred's chronic optimism, Ivan informs him one day, is misplaced. "I do not think you should count on your friends to save you."

"My friends?"

"Arthur," Ivan says; hazards, "Francis."

"Oh, I'm not counting on them." Alfred is wearing his sincere expression now. "I'm counting on you."

Ivan's instincts tell him this is a truth, though he does not understand how it can be. What foolish madness would lead one to believe his enemy would save him?

And yet.

And yet, it is possible that Alfred is not wrong. He has put Ivan in a difficult position. The Soviet Union _will_ prove superior to the United States of America, will defeat and outlast the United States...but not like this. To take another Nation captive, yes; to kill him once captive, no. Even nuclear holocaust, Ivan thinks, has more honor than causing America's downfall by executing its helpless personification.

Alfred has predicted this response. His confident smile tells Ivan so, more than words ever could.

Being predictable leaves an unpleasant taste in Ivan's mouth. He excuses himself to wash it away with vodka.

 

Ivan examined the remains of Alfred's aircraft again this morning. It is largely intact, in defiance of conventional wreckage resulting from missile impact. Soviet intell on events leading to the crash is muddled, accounts from the participants conflicting. Though his government would like to believe that their new S-75 SAM brought it down, Ivan cannot be sure what happened.

One thing he knows, and has for the past four years, is that the suspicious objects they have picked up on radar have, indeed, been American spy planes. Ivan wonders how many of the U-2s were piloted by Alfred himself. He wonders, too, how it was that they were able to bring down this aircraft when all previous attempts have been unsuccessful. He cannot allow himself to assume an S-75 can reach a U-2 at maximum altitude. After considering the possibilities, Ivan concludes that Alfred was not flying at the correct altitude. He guesses that there was an engine failure which could not be remedied in the thin atmosphere at whatever altitude Alfred was flying, and which forced Alfred to descend in order to attempt an engine restart. He does not question Alfred on this matter because he knows what Alfred will say: that he was descending for the purpose of landing, in order to pay Ivan a congenial visit. Ivan does not care to hear this again.

On the other hand, he is most curious to hear what the proscribed altitude is for American spy planes.

"68,000 feet," Alfred tells him.

Upon hearing this, Ivan is certain it is a lie. But is Alfred deliberately lying badly about this, allowing it to be detected as a lie in order to protect more important lies?

Ivan could go crazy if he thinks too much about Alfred's thoughts.

He wonders if this, too, is part of Alfred's plan.

Seeking momentary refuge in a pattern of familiarity, he reverses an earlier decision: he will hear Alfred's story one more time. This time he will let Alfred tell the whole story.

"Why were you flying so far below 68,000 feet?"

"I was coming in to land."

"You were in trouble?"

"No—like I keep telling you, I wanted to see you."

Siberia etched 'round the edges of his smile, Ivan arches one eyebrow artfully. "In Sverdlovsk?"

"Well, it's not like I could land smack dab in the middle of Red Square!" Alfred grins, but cannot sustain it against the chill of Ivan's smile.

"The rubles, the jewels," Ivan says when Alfred's smile has gone. He allows his lips to curve up ever so slightly more. "Am I to believe these were gifts for me?"

Alfred's grin bounces back. "I don't think we're at the _jewelry_ stage in this relationship yet!" When Ivan's mouth remains frozen, Alfred sighs. "Not for you. For your people—for whoever I met who might've helped me out."

"Out of the country?" Ivan's smile shades colder. "You think so little of my people that they could be corrupted easily by such things as these?"

Alfred's eyes widen, his smile stripped away. "No, I—"

"Were you able to bribe the farmers who found you?" Ivan presses on.

"No," Alfred says. "They did what I was hoping they would." He meets Ivan's gaze steadily. "They brought me to you."

Ivan finds himself wishing Alfred would smile again; he does not know how to respond to this sincere expression.

They watch each other in silence for a while. It is not a staring contest; each blinks, each looks away. And yet their gazes return to each other again and again.

It is Ivan's turn to sigh.

"You will be tried for espionage," he tells Alfred at last. "When you are convicted—"

"What happened to 'innocent until proven guilty'?" Alfred interrupts. "You're always telling me how much better your systems are than mine. Don't you have presumption of innocence here?"

The arguments surrounding this are too complex and moreover irrelevant to the point Ivan wishes to impress upon Alfred. " _If_ you are convicted, there is a possibility you will face a firing squad."

"Couldn't we just let me escape?" Alfred flashes yet another grin, which has the sense to smooth out under Ivan's dark gaze. "No, I guess not."

Ivan rises to go without another word. Even if it were possible to make Alfred understand he will be convicted, Ivan does not know what it would achieve. Alfred has placed the burden of his faith on Ivan and, as much as Ivan might wish otherwise, there is much for him to do now.

 

 _August 19, 1960 – USSR Supreme Court, Military Cases_

Having turned over the continued interrogation of Francis Gary Powers to other agents, Ivan does not see Alfred again until the trial begins, and does not speak to him until the third and final day. Now that the Kremlin has allowed Alfred to be seen, the American government knows what is at stake. Other governments, too; the British Embassy in Japan has called for an inquiry, though it will do no good.

Ivan has done what he can. Behind closed doors, to a privy and powerful few, he has made the case that Alfred's execution would mean nuclear winter. When asked about imprisonment, he offered his opinion that it would be acceptable and a fine vengeance against the American government, which would have to enter a new decade on its own, without its uniting personification. (Alfred's country, Ivan suspects, is in for an _interesting_ 1960s.)

So Ivan knows Alfred's fate. Alfred, sitting in the courtyard surrounded by guards, gazing into space, does not seem to. If that is true, it can only be willful ignorance.

The guards move back as Ivan approaches and sits beside Alfred on the stone bench.

"I'm addressing the court today," Alfred says.

It is why Ivan came to see him now. "And what will you say?"

Flashing his trademark grin, Alfred turns to him. "The truth, of course!" Before Ivan can ask which truth, Alfred continues, "That I am deeply repentant and profoundly sorry."

It is something of a surprise; the refusal of Alfred's boss to apologize for the espionage was the primary reason the Paris Summit collapsed back in May, and Ivan did not expect Alfred to offer such a gesture now.

"And that I bear no animosity towards the Russian people," Alfred concludes, lips still curved upwards.

Ivan cannot help noticing that Alfred has said "Russian" instead of "Soviet." If it is a trick, meant to make Ivan recall fonder days between the two of them—it works. He returns Alfred's smile. Ivan still is not sure if he can believe Alfred, not sure if he should—but somehow, he still wants to.

 

That was the last time they spoke, though Ivan requested and received reports of how Alfred was faring in Vladimirsky Central Prison. When he heard how well Alfred was getting on with the Soviet inmates, Ivan could not help laughing and shaking his head—and then wondering if it was merely Alfred's natural ingratiating nature, or part of some plot to start a revolution from within the prison system.

He saw Alfred one last time during this period in their shared history when Alfred was exchanged for Rudolph Abel on Glienicker Bridge. As he looks down the span of Pushkinsky Bridge now, Ivan recalls watching Alfred's back getting farther and farther away before he'd switched his gaze to the man coming towards him then.

As his gaze switches now, light from the breaking day catches in blond hair and glances off glass lenses; even through the glint, Ivan sees the sunshine blue of Alfred's eyes.

Realizing Ivan has seen him, Alfred grins and waves. He saunters up to lean on the railing beside Ivan. "Sorry, am I late? I hope we haven't missed any of the festivities—" He breaks off to yawn. "Hi, Ivan." He grins again.

"Alfred." Infected, Ivan returns the smile. "You are not late."

If Alfred is uncomfortable under Ivan's continued gaze, he doesn't let it show. He lets the silence lengthen, then breaks it smoothly. "Penny for your thoughts. Or kopek, I guess."

"I was thinking of another May Day," Ivan says. He turns, leans out farther to watch the Moskva rushing by below.

A second reflection joins his on the water, the two of them silhouetted like shimmering shadows.

"Hey, Ivan." Alfred waits for Ivan to turn to him, for their eyes to meet. "Tell me what to say. I'll say whatever you need to hear to believe me. To trust me again. Just tell me what to tell you..."

As they look at each other, Ivan finds his gaze cannot penetrate Alfred's openness. It would be easy for him to tell Alfred what to say, and easy for Alfred to say it.

But "easy" has not been the way between them for a century, at least, and Ivan does not think either of them wants that to change. It does not need to be difficult, but it must be earned.

And so he says, "I want the truth. No matter what it is. Just the truth."

The dawning of Alfred's smile is deceptively slow; the radiance of it hits Ivan as soon as it begins its curve across Alfred's face. "Ivan." Impossibly, Alfred's smile deepens; and at his next words, Ivan's does, too: "Oh, Ivan, don't you know—that's what I want, too."

**Author's Note:**

> May 1 is celebrated as Labor (celebration of people) and Spring (celebration of renewal) Day in Russia; it is also International Workers Day.
> 
> [F. Gary Powers](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gary_Powers) and the [U-2 Spy Plane Incident](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1960_U-2_incident): On May 1, 1960, on a mission from Peshawar Airfield in Pakistan to Bodo, Norway, an American U-2 plane piloted by Francis Gary Powers came down outside Svertlovk, Russia. To this day, confusion seems to remain surrounding the exact actual facts of the crash—or at least I couldn't find a definitive answer. The most likely theory seems to be the one Ivan subscribes to here: that the plane was brought down by an S-75 SAM (surface-to-air missile) after descending below the "safe" altitude, due to engine problems. Powers' own account is available in his book, _Operation Overflight: A Memoir of the U-2 Incident_. (There's a ton of interesting information online, including contemporary newspaper accounts and courtroom transcripts; it's far too much for me to list here.)
> 
> 68,000 feet — Ivan is right to suspect Alfred of lying about the "safe" altitude: although that's what Gary Powers told his interrogators and the Soviet Military Court, the actual safe altitude was 70,000 feet.
> 
> The "suicide pin" Gary Powers was given before the mission is one of the reasons the U.S. governmment believed the pilot didn't survive the crash and therefore took the approach they did, of insisting it had been a civilian plane gone off-course; they also believed the aircraft had been destroyed, since it was equipped with a self-destruct device. 
> 
> For discussion on the nature presumption of innocence in the Soviet legal system, see [here](http://www.jstor.org/pss/839708) and [here](http://books.google.com/books?id=QHC4utvC05sC&pg=PA263&lpg=PA263&dq=%22presumption+of+innocence%22+soviet+union&source=bl&ots=8BluJYIjXJ&sig=dkDeWQvisDpbGReobi6Y6bFeBrU&hl=en&ei=5jHbS4sgwfqXB4jJvKMC&sa=X&oi=book_result&ct=result&resnum=3&ved=0CA4Q6AEwAg#v=onepage&q=%22presumption%20of%20innocence%22%20soviet%20union&f=false).
> 
> "That I am deeply repentant and profoundly sorry," and, "That I bear no animosity towards the Russian people." — These are taken from Gary Powers' address to the court, which you can listen to [here](http://www.history.com/audio/francis-gary-powers-released-by-soviets#powers-makes-final-plea-before-moscow-court). If you're interested, the court transcripts are [here](http://www.oldgazette.ru/lib/pauers/01.html) (in Russian; I used [google translate](http://translate.google.com/#) to get a rough English translation).
> 
> It was reading about how awesomely Gary Powers got along with the Soviet prisoners at Vladimirsky Central Prison that convinced me I had to write him as Alfred. It's difficult to reconcile Alfred's imprisonment with canonical Hetalia treatment, but I hope you can suspend disbelief and go with the turbulence of the 60s as substitute explanation. ;)
> 
> Francis Gary Powers and an American student named Frederic L. Pryor were exchanged for Soviet spy Rudolph Abel at Glienicker Brücke (Bridge) on February 10, 1962.
> 
> Finally, I ended where I did so everyone who happens to read this can make up their own minds about the truth of why Alfred was in Soviet airspace on May 1, 1960. My own opinion formed the basis for this story, but once I realized telling it from the POV of Ivan, who doesn't know what's in Alfred's head, would make the more interesting story, I decided on an open ending.


End file.
